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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28253118">Be Careful What You Wish For</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hadtocomeupwithausername/pseuds/hadtocomeupwithausername'>hadtocomeupwithausername</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1920s, Age Difference, Childbirth, Class Differences, F/M, Human Trafficking, Misogyny, Period-Typical Sexism, Power Imbalance, Pregnancy, Prohibition, Racism, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religion, Speakeasies, elitist, high society - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:13:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,372</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28253118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hadtocomeupwithausername/pseuds/hadtocomeupwithausername</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dream big, marry rich."</p><p>That was the mantra that got Soledad through the hardest of times. Because that's the only way girls got out of poverty in her world, by marrying rich. So how on Earth could she find a reason to deny the attentions of the wealthy Phineas Shaw? She tells herself to be grateful as he pulls her into the dreamy world of glitz and glamour. But within the sea of wealth, there’s always darkness and sin lurking underneath, and if she’s not careful, she’ll drown.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Soledad De la Vega/Mark Palmer, Soledad De la Vega/Phineas Shaw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Be Careful What You Wish For</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I apologize. I'm really bad at summaries.</p><p>TW: Implied Non-Con/Rape in the first chapter. Also, its aftermath.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “You’re no better than we are” </em>
</p><p><em> You’re no better than we are, you’re no better than we are, you’re no better than we are... </em> Those words kept echoing in Sol’s head. <em> It’s true, isn’t it? </em>Black droplets, a mixture of mascara and heavy tears, rolled down her cheeks streaking her tanned skin. It was hard to focus on them, or even on the slimy spend that was creeping its way out of her aching core and slithering down her legs. If Sol could go back in time and change any of the choices she’s ever made, it would be meeting Phineas Shaw.</p><p>Everything had gone downhill after meeting him. Nothing but pain, misery, loss, and destruction had come from their relationship and she chided herself for being a part of it. Sol wasn’t innocent in this whole scenario, she knew that but he had been everything she ever wanted and she had been...nothing. <em> He was right about that, </em>she thought as she curled in on herself. </p><p>Her first clue that something wasn’t right should’ve been that he picked her out when he could’ve had any of the glamorous women who threw themselves at him. Them in their soft furs, glittering diamonds, and expensive dresses that Sol didn’t even entertain the idea of wearing because that’s what you don’t do when you know exactly how much money you have. Sol never asked him why he picked her because she didn’t want him to ask himself that question and decide to find someone else, someone better. Sol never wanted to set herself up for disappointment, but here she had gone and done it. <em> God, you’re smarter than this.  </em></p><p>She was raised to be pious, selfless, maternal, generous, and above all kind. Her purpose had been ground into her since she was old enough to understand words and know right from wrong. <em> They’d be so ashamed of me...giving in to temptation...walking straight into sin. </em>It wasn’t even that deep down she knew her actions were disappointing and wrong. No, the knowledge of her own wickedness lingered on the surface and echoed in her head with every bad decision she had made.</p><p>But being his girl was like being in a fairy tale. Finn was the type of rich that had an elegance and an allure that she had always wanted. Old money. With him, she was glamorous and a true princess. When she walked into the room with her on his arm, everyone asked her her name. They <em> wanted </em>to know who she was and she’d tell them, sparing a few details. </p><p>With a nice dress and a diamond necklace adorning her neck, she could almost convince everyone and herself that she was one of them. That she lived a life of comfort and had a variety of hobbies, such as art collecting. Sol scoffed...<em> art collecting </em> . The rich called it “art collecting” and “curating”, but that was just another word for theft. At least, she was honest about what she was doing that night. <em> They wouldn’t know honesty if it bit them on the ass.  </em></p><p>She didn’t need them to tell her she didn’t belong, because she already knew. Finn was born into wealth and suckled his silver spoons probably before he suckled his mother’s milk. While they were together, she pushed down her resentment and jealousy towards his ignorance of his privilege and fortune in order to love him. To love him while she worked hard to put something on her own spoon that definitely wasn’t made of silver. Finn had everything she ever wanted. </p><p>To not have to claw her way through the trenches to just get the scraps of the scraps that people like him threw out. Now she was no better than those scraps and it was a cruel irony that she even looked like how she felt. The shreds of his wealth littered her feet, the dark blue satin of her dress having been stained by his lust and wrath. <em> He seemed like such a good guy.  </em></p><p>She wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her head into the space in between. Sobs escaped her chest and the thought that no one was around to hear them sent her into a dizzy spiral of despair. No one was looking for her, no one left to love her or hold her. <em> I’m going to die here. </em>The room was clammy and cold, the stone walls feeling wet against her sore grated back. The pebble-like floor wasn’t much better and just reminded her of the aggressive friction she felt against her back when he had been on top of her, thrusting and- </p><p>Bile and acid shot up through her throat and spilled onto her dress. Tears beaded her eyes as they do when you feel the burn and sting of vomit come through your throat. The smell was rancid. She had wanted to fit into her dress, so she had chosen to forgo eating that day to prevent bloating. It all seemed so unimportant now. <em> It </em> <b> <em>is</em> </b> <em> unimportant </em>.</p><p>She should’ve convinced herself she could be happy with Mark. Yes, she would’ve been stuck with a gaggle of children and stained with their messes, but it would’ve been a hell of a lot better than where she was at now. Trapped. <em> In a literal goddamn fucking dungeon. </em>When God gave her the choice between happiness and wealth, she had chosen wealth. Like a fool. </p><p>Her story was the type pastors told their congregations to warn them of the sin of greed, and she was sure if she had paid attention to a sermon or two then she would have avoided this whole mess. Her dark brown eyes looked up at the high stone ceiling, pleading to it as if it were the face of God itself, “Please Lord, I beg of you,” her nose began to sting, “Help me get out of here. Help me and I swear on my immortal soul that I will make amends for everything I’ve done. I will be your angel of justice. Just please help me.”</p><p>Her words echoed off the walls, repeating what she said into her own ears as if they had nowhere else to go. “Please,” she whimpered.</p><p>She had begged before, but no one had listened. <em> No one ever listens. </em> Now more than ever before, she was alone. Sol had pushed away everyone who had tried to warn her, steer her on the correct path, and genuinely cared for her. <em> And I hurt them.  </em></p><p>The softness in her eyes hardened and something inside of her did too. <em> They should’ve fucking listened </em> . If they had, maybe no one would’ve gotten hurt. <em> They would’ve been better off...but if I had listened to them... </em>Sol continued to cry into herself. </p><p>She didn't know how long she had wallowed in her misery; it could’ve been minutes or hours. What she did know was her nose stung, her chest hurt, and her tears had run out in that moment. With nothing else to do, she shuddered, <em> It’s time </em> . <em> On the count of three, you’ll pull yourself together. </em>“1, 2,” she paused, “3.”</p><p><em> Nothing. </em>Sol wasn’t quite sure what she expected to happen, but she thought something would. That she’d be granted some type of internal power and find a way to see herself through this. Still, Sol counted and counted. The sound of the numbers bouncing off the cold walls, into her ears, and out of her mouth again. </p><p>There was no magic. She remained motionless and counted again. Nothing. So she counted again, and again, and again. Waiting for the number three that would give her the strength to get up and get to work. But that strength didn’t come that night. And really, what could she do? There was no way out without them letting her out<em>. If they’d ever do that</em>…</p><p>Counting gave her something to do, something to think about besides all that happened that night. All that happened before. “1, 2, 3...,1, 2, 3” she counted.</p><p>It went on like that for the rest of the night. The wet drip of water couldn’t even be heard as her words echoed off the walls.</p><p>“1, 2, 3.”</p>
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